C'est la Vie

Hannah and Julia gaze up at me
they’re sporting matching princess pajamas,      
a gift to them from Santa
just a few measly months ago.

They are little angels,
so innocent and so pure.
I read them Good Night Moon, their favorite,
and pray they turn out nothing like me.

My girls descend into their dreams,
asleep much like the dolls
resting on the shelves- eyes shut
with long lashes blanketing the lids.
Peaceful and serene.

I slither into my lascivious black dress,
revealing, but not too trashy.
Next, my stiletto louboutins,
procured second hand of course,
and grab my oversize leopard print purse.

I curl my long blonde hair- it cascades
evenly around my neck.
Douse my eyes in a smoky charcoal
and paint my lips the hue
of the merlot I had with dinner.

A banging on the door resonates like an alarm.
Betsy, the sitter, a young, naïve
college student is here.
I repeat my mantra like a toy
which when you squeeze it, has only one line.

“This is for the kids, we must somehow survive.”
Then, welcome Betsy in as I gather my things.

Soon, I am walking through the Ritz Carlton lobby.
My heels click clack, click clacking.
I am reminded of the sounds
the horse hooves made at the barn,
so many, too many years ago.

Back when Tom was still around.
We used to go riding as a family,
I yearn for those carefree days.
Like missing the summer once it’s gone,
except my spring will never come.

I press the button for the 14th floor,
It’s actually the 13th.
They skip 13, trying to fool
me. I am not fooled for a second.

I figure the room where I’m headed,
Room 1421, would be ominous
no matter what floor it was on.
I set off down the dimly lit hotel hall.

I knock and wait. Through the door
I can hear movement and him bustling
around, hurriedly. As though I’d startled him,
despite the fact this has been planned for weeks.

When the door ultimately creaks open,
like a scene from a horror film,
there he is- just as I’d imagined.
Theoretically they are all individuals,
but to me they are all the same.

I notice the ring on his fat, stubby finger.
How does the guilt not destroy these men?
Even with Tom dead and my ring pawned
long ago, I still can barely face myself,
For now I’m trapped in this world. C’est la vie.

I kiss him fleetingly as I enter and feel his eyes fucking  
me as I grab the envelope sitting on the desk.
I quickly count the $400 and place it in my purse.
I peek up at the man and numbness floods me-
I am no longer myself, I am whoever he wants.

I change in to the lacy lingerie
I packed- a garter and thigh-highs- the works.
Glancing at the mirror, I barely recognize
myself. I am staring into a funhouse mirror.
Who is this woman glowering back? I am distorted.

It’s as though a high-speed hummingbird
has replaced my heart; it races faster and faster.
No matter how many times I’ve been here,
it never gets any less excruciating.

When I get to the bed he is already naked,
at least tonight I don’t have to pretend
that this is anything more than a trick.
I hate the ones who covet a “girlfriend experience”
I’m a decent actress, but not that good.

The hour crawls by, slower than sap trickling
down a tree. Finally I am free.
I dress hastily; bid him “adieu.”
I drive home, seeking to purify my soul
with prayers pleading for forgiveness.

I pay Betsy out of the envelope,
so oblivious. How can she not know?

I check on my girls. Hannah’s snoring,
Julia’s curled tight in to a ball.
My little angels, they are my life.
Things have been hard since Tom disappeared,
but I will take care of them, despite any consequences.